


Choice and Consequence

by FantasiaWandering



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Citadel, Gen, Mass Effect 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasiaWandering/pseuds/FantasiaWandering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard is no stranger to difficult choices. Noveria. Virmire. Tuchanka. Consequences are something she's learned to live with. But the events surrounding the destruction of the Alpha Relay left her without a choice, and the consequences of that act are proving to be almost too much to bear. Fortunately, Shepard has also made choices that brought more positive outcomes. It is those choices -- mentor, ship, friends... friends with benefits -- that will keep her afloat in the storm brewing on the eve of the Reaper war. Those choices create the eye of the storm in which she can find rest, rejuvenation... and even joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choice and Consequence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theherocomplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/gifts).



> This story is for Bee, because it would not exist without her. I am so grateful both for the indispensable assistance beta-ing the first draft, and for dragging me into this insane universe in the first place. This is your fault, Bee. Thank you for that.

_He’s getting older,_ Shepard thought, and regretted it almost immediately. It felt mutinous. Maybe it was just the clothes; Anderson’s shoulders had never bowed like that beneath the weight of an Alliance uniform. If she’d known that endorsing him for Earth’s Councilor would have worn on him like this… No, she’d probably still have made the same decision. She’d just have felt more guilty about it.

He leaned heavily on the rail, watching the taxis pass over the presidium below them, and let the silence stretch before he finally turned to her and sighed. “You couldn’t have worn the dress uniform? I know you have one. I signed off on the requisition.”

“Sir, you and I both know I have an alarming tendency to get shot at when I’m here,” Shepard replied. “And if al-Jillani’s report is any indication, half the galaxy believes I’m actually responsible for the Collector attacks. I’m a lot more comfortable with barriers and shields right now.”

That, at least, startled a snort of laughter from him, and he shook his head. “I hate that you’re right about that.”

“Besides,” Shepard added, leaning against the balustrade next to him. “I like my armor. I never have to iron it. Or polish buttons. Or worry about what temperature they’ve set the shipboard environmentals to. Or take it off if I have to pee.”

“Shepard!”

She wondered if she ever looked at any of her squad with that odd mixed expression of fond amusement and utter exasperation. The closest she probably came was Grunt, and she wasn’t sure it was a favourable comparison.

“What?” She folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip, enjoying the role of defiant teenager more than she cared to admit. “I like efficiency.”

“You like not having to fuss over appearances.”

“That too.”

Anderson sighed, straightening as he looked her over, his deep voice almost plaintive as he asked, “You couldn’t at least have brushed your hair?”

Shepard raised an impatient hand to hook a stray strand behind her ear. “I brushed it this morning. What’s wrong with my hair?”

He raised a brow. “And how many helmets has it been in since then?”

“Three,” Shepard admitted, running her hand through it. Okay, so maybe her fingers _did_ get tangled in it more than they probably should.  

“Only three?” Anderson pushed away from the balcony, his strain visibly easing and a glimmer of humour in his eyes. “Slacking off on the resource surveys today?”

“You know it was never the same without the Mako.” A fond smile crossed her face as she looked out over the Presidium, imagining how much fun it would have been to drive the Mako up the walls. “I miss that thing.”

“Shepard--”

Sobering a little, she raised her gaze to meet his. “With all due respect, sir, you know that I could have shown up in the vestments of the goddess Athame and it wouldn’t have made a difference to these people.”

“Been spending time with Dr. T’Soni, have we?”

“We had a lot of catching up to do.”

Shepard heaved a deep sigh, turning to watch the traffic as it surged past. The warm light that filtered across the presidium cast everything into soft relief, and after the events of the past year, she could use some soft. Just for a while. The hum of life on the Citadel rang in her ears like a distant song, and buzzed through the soles of her feet. It was the one place in the galaxy she’d found that was never still. Never silent. The air was softly scented with something she couldn’t place, some floral that reminded her of her sojourns on Earth, and part of her regretted that she’d never spent enough time there to learn what it was. Rubbing at her nose, she wondered how they managed to make the Citadel’s air soothing to all the species that shared galactic space. She’d heard more than her share of complaints about everything from the lighting to the food, but she’d never heard anyone complain about the smell. Unless a large number of krogan happened to be passing through.

“I didn’t have any other choice,” she said quietly.

She wasn’t talking about Liara anymore, but of course, Anderson knew that.

As he moved up to stand behind her, she found she could still feel it, as she had all those times he had moved to look over her shoulder at her monitors on the _Normandy._ His presence was as solid and reassuring as it had ever been. Without saying a word, Anderson could stand in the middle of a CIC and in an instant, everyone knew what kind of Commander they were serving under. He was the breakwater that would keep the storm from the battered walls of their ship. From her first day as his XO, she had known that he was the kind of man for whom she would sail into hell with a smile on her face and a song on her lips -- until the crew figured out that she was tone deaf and threw her overboard. In a way, part of her felt like she was always trying to live up to that first impression she’d had of him. To be that for her own crew. But for now, she could take a moment to shelter in that breakwater and pretend that he’d sail this ship clean through till daylight.

“I know you didn’t,” he said at last. “Half the galaxy knows that.”

“It’s just the other half we have to worry about.”

The steady stream of life surged on below her. She supposed that part of what bothered her so much was that she had nearly laid down her life for them -- hell, she _had_ laid down her life once -- and those same people were ready to turn on her and throw her to the wolves.

And the worst part of it was, despite everything, she was ready to do it all over again.

“War is coming, Shepard,” Anderson gave voice to the thoughts chasing around her head. “Even if they insist on burying their heads in the sand and refusing to see it. We can’t afford to have the Alliance divided right now over the fate of one Spectre.” There was warmth and weariness both in his voice as he sighed. “Even if that Spectre is you.”

She was the commander of her own ship. Leader of the best damn crew in the galaxy. But here, in the seclusion of the embassy, she let the reins of command slip, just a little, as she bowed her head. “What do we do, sir?”

“The only thing we can do, Shepard.” He rested his hand against her shoulder and she closed her eyes, letting that solid, unerring touch tether her in the seething maelstrom. “Batten the hatches, put our heads down, and try to weather the storm.”

She nodded slowly, straightening as she turned to face him, some of her calm restored. “And try to have faith that eventually the sun will come out again.”

The worry in Anderson’s eyes retreated just a little as he clapped her on the shoulder, wincing a little as her shields interpreted it as a blow and released a thread of feedback. “Exactly.”

“So when do we do this thing?”

“Whenever you decide to turn yourself in on Earth.” At her astonished look, he smiled a little. “Hackett and I can’t do much, but we can do that at least. And we won’t hold it against you if you decided to take the scenic route.” He tugged at the hem of his jacket. “Besides, that would give me time to get my things settled.”

She stared at him, not quite sure if she really understood what he was implying. “Sir?”

He gestured at the balcony and the expanse beyond. “I’ve done what I can here, and I appreciate your endorsement. But this… It’s not me, Shepard. I’ve accepted an admiralty back on Earth. The fact that it’ll put me closer to you and let me grease a few wheels in the process is just a fortunate coincidence.”

And with that, he reminded her of all the reasons why she was willing to lay down her life for him. For this man who’d taken the vast, empty expanse of space she’d been born and raised in and made it _home_. But she’d never been much good with the emotional stuff -- except when someone was holding a gun on her. She’d never really figured that one out; it was probably an adrenaline thing. So, in the face of this show of unwavering support from the man whose opinion mean more to her than anyone else in the galaxy, all she could think to say was “...I should go.” And flushed slightly at his outburst of laughter.

But she paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. “You really think we can sail through this storm, sir?”

Anderson leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “Shepard,” he said, “Let’s see what we can find.”

Warmth flooded through her, breaking like the sun after the storm, and the first genuine smile she’d worn since Bahak crossed her face. Wordlessly, she saluted, and turned to go.

* * *

Shepard took the long way back to the Normandy, taking the time to wander the Presidium and commit to memory the very real faces of the people her actions had saved. Eventually, she came to rest beneath a tree next to a fountain, perching herself on the wall that bordered the tree as she watched a little salarian chase a young hanar around with a pair of model ships. Absently, wondered if either of those ships was the Normandy.

“EDI, can you see these kids?”

“ _Yes, Shepard,”_ came the AI’s level voice over her earpiece. “ _I am currently engaged in monitoring_ all _environmental activity, hazards, and potential threats within the detection range of your omni-tool.”_ She wouldn’t have thought smugness or pride were attributes she would ever assign to an AI, but Shepard was coming to understand that her ship’s artificial brain had a lot of feelings about things that she usually left unvoiced.

“Can you see if you can track down their families and have my model ships sent to them? I don’t think I’ll be needing them much for a while.”

There was a long moment of silence, which must have been an eternity for EDI, before the AI said, quietly, “ _Yes, Shepard.”_  Then, even more quietly. “ _But perhaps I could keep a few in storage in the hold?_ ”

Shepard smiled. “Sure, EDI. You pick out your favourites.”

“ _Thank you, Shepard. I will… Thank you, Shepard.”_

The telltale shift in the static in her ear told her that EDI had closed the channel, and she let the smile slip from her face. Poor EDI. If she really was the Normandy now, she had to be feeling pretty hollowed out lately as Shepard’s crew had quietly slipped away, either retreating from scrutiny they couldn’t afford, or running to help those desperately in need of it. It had to be frightening, too, for EDI to put herself into the hands of the Alliance and trust they’d leave her in one piece.

 _I know the feeling_ , Shepard thought, with a quiet, derisive snort.

“So. How did it go?”

Shepard closed her eyes briefly, letting that deep voice that resonated in places she hadn’t even known she _had_ wash over and through her, before she turned to look up at him.

Garrus took one look at her face and winced sympathetically. “That good, huh?”

“Could have been worse,” Shepard said, rising to her feet and moving to lean against the balcony rail opposite her tree. Normally, she didn’t mind the height difference, but at the moment, she was still a little sensitive to _looming._ “I’m not in restraints, anyway.” She smirked, resting her elbows against the rail as she looked him over. The dressing on his face was gone, his plates bearing the unmistakable raw newness of a trip to the hospital. The scars were still unmistakable and awful, but he was healing. They all were.

“So what are you still doing here?” she continued. “I thought you’d be halfway to Palaven by now.”

“Please, Palaven can take care of itself for a few days, you’ve bought us that much,” he said. “Besides, what kind of turian would I be if I ran off and left you to take the heat without a decent sniper at your back?”

Despite the heaviness of her mood, she couldn’t help the grin that he teased from her. “A smart one?”

“Well. Lucky for you, I’ve always been more of a fighter than a philosopher. Besides, turians never run. They just retreat in an orderly fashion and leave traps as they go.” He rested one hand on the rail next to her, and he reached out with the other to brush a strand of loose hair back into place behind her ear.

Shepard held very still while he did it. It was an exploratory gesture, still fragile in its newness, like a soap bubble poised on the verge of bursting. But his hand lingered against her hair, and she allowed herself the luxury of leaning into it, just a little.

“Shepard,” he said, and she still wasn’t quite over how no one else in the galaxy could make her name sound quite like that. He frowned as his thumb moved over the redness still fading from her cheeks. “What happened in there?”

She had a flippant remark poised and ready, but something in his look stopped her. A few months ago, she might have read his look as respectful interest, but now… She was discovering a lot more nuance to turian expressions than she’d thought were even possible. Sighing, she eased back from his touch and ran a hand through her hair. “I got presented with the consequences of wiping out an entire System. I take the Normandy back to Earth, she goes into dry dock, and I spend some time getting to know the inside of an Alliance prison facility.” She shook her head with a dry laugh.  “At least I’m assured it’ll be a nice one. With time working a nice desk job under heavy surveillance if I behave myself.”

For a moment, all Garrus could do was stare at her. “What?” he breathed. “I mean, I know you mentioned it was a possibility, but I didn’t think they’d really--”

He broke off, turning away from her, and she didn’t miss the reflexive twitching of his fingers. It was probably a good thing he’d left his guns behind. Garrus annoyed was a force to be reckoned with, but Garrus enraged was terrifying. There was a reason half the criminal underworld on Omega had practically pissed themselves at the sound of his codename.

And right now, he was really, really mad.

“How many times do you have to save the damn galaxy before they--” His fists clenched as he paced in front of her, his movements telegraphing the leashed rage he was barely keeping in check. “ No. You know what? No.”

“Whoa, there, tough guy!” Shepard lunged forward, catching his arm as he moved to storm off. “My reputation is already tarnished like a bad credit chit. I don’t need you helping, sweet as the offer is.”

Garrus looked down at her hand on his arm, and for a moment she wondered if he’d just throw her off and attempt to go confront Anderson anyway. Well, he’d try. She’d have to take him down, and that certainly wouldn’t be pretty in the middle of the Presidium. Fun, yes. But not pretty. Even as the thought crossed her mind, though, she felt a little of the quivering tension in his arm abate, and she wistfully filed away the wrestling locks she’d been pondering for later.

“You’re right,” he said at last, and glared at her. “I hate that.”

“I know,” she said, patting his arm.

“I just--” he turned his head, shifting as he watched the children playing in the spray of the fountain. “I know that what happened with the Alpha Relay have to have consequences. I get that, really.” He looked back at her, and she could see her own inner frustration mirrored in his eyes. “But anyone who knows anything about you has to know that you only would have done it if it was the only way to keep the rest of the galaxy safe. Of all the people in the galaxy, you’d think they could make an exception for _you_.”

A hanar drifted past on a nearby walkway, and Shepard couldn’t miss the way it checked itself and moved a little farther away from where she and Garrus stood. “Honestly?” she said. “I don’t think some of them believe that I really _am_ me.”

“I suppose I can understand that.” Garrus’s voice was heavy with reluctance, drawing his words out in that way that did inconvenient things to her. “Hell, for a while, I had the same problem.”

“Really?” Shepard lifted a brow. “You never told me that.”

“We did have more pressing things to worry about at the time,” he reminded her.

“Still,” she said, “when we were coming across the bridge back on Omega, you used concussive rounds when you shot at me -- and don’t think I’m not thinking up ways you can make _that_ up to me, by the way. What was the point if you didn’t believe it was me? Why not just--?” She made a trigger motion at her temple.

“I almost did,” he said. His voice, already deep enough to do incredibly distracting things to her at the best of times, dropped even further, the subharmonics enough to raise the hair on Shepard’s arms beneath the armour. “You sure you want to hear this?”

Shepard folded her arms as she leaned back against the rail. “Humour me.”

“Riiiight,” he said, letting out a long, slow breath. “You have to understand, Shepard, I wasn’t exactly in a good place when you found me. Getting word that you’d died… well, it hit me pretty hard. And when I lost the rest of my squad, it was like nothing in the galaxy made sense any more. I was just...lost. So when the mercs had me pinned down and I looked down my scope and I saw _you_ with Miranda and Taylor, with Cerberus colours plastered all over you, I was… ‘Mad’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

“So you thought I was some clone Cerberus had cooked up to take you down?”

“Got it in one. Can you blame me?”

A wry smile quirked at her mouth as she shook her head. “Not really, no.”

“Yeah.” He leaned against the rail next to her, his gaze going distant in the way it did when he was sighting down the barrel of his rifle. “So there I was. Had the shot lined up -- clean headshot, would have been over in an instant.” He looked fondly down at her and added, generously, “You wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

“Why Garrus Vakarian, you _do_ know how to sweet talk a girl.” Shepard bumped him with her hip, and was rewarded with a soft, rare huff of laughter from him. Encouraged by that, she tilted her head, regarding him with frank curiosity. “So what stopped you?”

He was quiet a moment, and the ghost of a smile drifted across his face. “You looked straight at me. Right down the scope. And you had that _look_ on your face.”

Her eyes widened a little. “What look?”

He snorted. “The one that says ‘some idiot is standing between me and someone I want on my squad, and they’re about to learn why that’s a phenomenally bad idea.’”

Shepard stared at him, a little alarmed. “That’s a look?”

“That’s _your_ look,” he corrected. “And I don’t care how good Cerberus is, no matter what else they managed to copy, you are the only person I’ve _ever_ seen who’s ever managed to achieve that particular combination of amused, impatient, and royally ticked off.”

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me I have a look?”

“Anyway,” he continued, ignoring her consternation, “that’s when I realized that for the first time since I lost my team, I was actually… interested in something again. I wanted to see who’d been stupid enough to get in your way. And I figured, what the hell. If you turned out to be an evil clone, I could always shoot you later, but at least I was going to get a hell of a show before the end. Then you stormed across that bridge like some kind of annoyed supernova, and I realized that it had to be you. The real you.”

“Why?” she asked.

His voice dropped again, sending a gentle shiver up her spine. “I was having fun.” Then he straightened, more casual as he added, “The whole saving-my-life-after-a-gunship-took-half-my-face-off thing didn’t hurt, either. Even if it did leave me with a faceful of scars.”

“Oh, come on, you know they give you a certain rakish charm. You certainly milk it enough.”

“True.” He shifted again, his hands resting on the rail on either side of her, fencing her in. He was close enough now that she could feel his breath on her face as he spoke, and it was a measure of.. of whatever _this_ was that, from him, she found she actually didn’t mind the looming. “All things said and done,” he said softly, “I’m awfully glad I didn’t take that shot.”

He lowered his head, and Shepard closed her eyes as his brow came to rest against hers. They weren’t ready for anything more, at least not in plain view of the Presidium, but for the moment, that quiet gesture of support and trust was enough. It gave her the shields she needed to bolster herself against the coming storm.

“Don’t do this, Jenna.”

 _Ow. Low blow, Vakarian._ His quiet plea pierced her barriers like a shot, powered by his use of her name. She wasn’t used to hearing it in his voice, and it stirred things in her she fervently wished would lie quiet.

She couldn’t remember when she’d started thinking of herself as Shepard. Sometime between assuming command of the Normandy and throwing herself headlong into certain death on the Collector base, something had quietly, firmly, unobtrusively clicked over somewhere in her mind. And she hadn’t fought against it as the mantle of Commander Shepard had risen up to engulf her. Shepard was the hero who’d defeated Saren. Shepard had been killed by the Collectors and returned to seek her vengeance. Shepard was a legend, untouchable. Nothing could reach her when she was Shepard.

Except Garrus…

He was a good soldier. A great one. And he would follow Commander Shepard into anything she asked, without question or hesitation. She was as certain of that as she was about any of the other laws of nature that governed the galaxy.

But Garrus had also looked beyond the armour of Shepard and found Jenna somewhere within. And truth be told, that scared her more than a little. Jenna was vulnerable. Flawed. Human.

But in the end, Shepard won. She always did.

“We both know we can’t just fly the Normandy off into the sunset,” she said, opening her eyes again, Shepard firmly back in place. “For one, Joker and EDI would never let us live it down.”

Garrus blinked slowly at her words, and she watched as he, too, slipped his emotional armor back into place. Yet, it didn’t distance him the way it always had with Liara when Shepard had done it in front of her. Shepard knew why Liara had been hurt by it, and she regretted that, but she kept doing it anyway. It wasn’t something she could stop at this point in her life -- she needed her emotional armour every bit as much as she needed the physical set. This, at least, was something Garrus also understood, and there was no underlying hurt when either of them inevitably retreated into the soldier that they both were.

“Right,” he said. “Joker would _say_ things and then I’d have to punch him. And then I’d break something and feel bad about it. Probably.” He let go of the rail, turning so that he could lean next to her. “Besides which, we both know that this is _you_ and the guilt would have you turning the ship around outside of a day.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “You _could_ tell them I kidnapped you.”

Shepard snorted. “Right.”

“What? I did consider it.” Stepping back, he crossed his arms and smirked at her, his voice resonant with that cocky arrogance she’d missed in him for so long after picking him up on Omega. “After all, you wouldn’t be the first person Archangel made disappear.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer. Just raised a brow.

Laughing, Garrus raised his hands. “All right, all right, don’t give _me_ the look--”

“I don’t have a look!”

“--I said I considered it. I didn’t say I’d actually go through with it. I know how much it would piss you off, and I’d much rather my internal organs _stayed_ internal.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Shepard,” he said. “Please. I was there during the fight with Saren. I was there when you took down the human Reaper. I know firsthand better than anyone else in the galaxy why it’s a terrible idea to get on your bad side. You are _absolutely_ that bad.” He bumped a shoulder against hers. “Not that I’d have it any other way.”

The children had taken their toys and gone home, the nature of the foot traffic changing as the shifts on the Citadel ticked over. It was going to get a lot more crowded in here really fast, and she wasn’t sure she particularly wanted to be recognized right now. Reluctantly, she eased back from the rail. “Garrus--”

“I know. You should go.” But even as he spoke the words, he reached down. His fingers locked around her wrist, and the strength in those deceptively frail hands still took her off guard, even now. “Let me come with you.”

Her gaze drifted up to his. “You know that’s not in the cards, Vakarian.”

“I don’t mean all the way. Just as far as Earth. Once the Normandy’s in dry dock, I’ll find my own way to Palaven from there.” Slowly, his death grip on her wrist loosened as she made no attempt to pull away, and his hand slid down to hers. “Come on, Shepard. One last ride, for old time’s sake. Besides…” he moved in close again, pressing up against her until she could feel the vibration of his voice through every inch of her suit. “You never know when you might need something...calibrated.”

A snort of laughter escaped her, and she shook her head in surrender. “Fine. Just as far as Earth.”

The look he gave her was the embodiment of smug satisfaction, but she let him have it. After all he’d done for her, he’d more than earned it. He let her go as she began to move drifting toward the commons on the way back to the docks, but he stayed close. She didn’t even have to check. After all this time, she knew exactly where he’d be. Just to her right, just past her shoulder, guarding her back.

“And you know,” he said conversationally, “if you ever get bored of that Alliance cell and should happen to need a dashing, handsome vigilante to stage a prison break…”

Her laugh this time was genuine, and it seemed they were coming easier the more he startled them out of her. “I know who to call,” she said.

“You’d better. I know a certain Krogan or two who’d love to help. There’d be nothing left standing at the end of it. It’d be fun.” His voice turned thoughtful. “I bet Zaeed would help with demolitions.”

She was ready to open her mouth to refute him. She really was. But before she could utter a word, her own voice interrupted her.

_I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favourite store on the Citadel._

“Shepard, we really need to talk about that,” Garrus murmured quietly as her cheeks reddened.

“Hey!” A passing Batarian looked sharply at the storefront from which the commercial  had come. “That’s my endorsement!”

“No,” a Salarian edged up from the opposite direction, ire plastered across his face. “That’s _my_ endorsement!”

“No it isn’t!” the Asari merchant next door piped up. “It’s _mine_.”

“Oh, hell,” Shepard breathed.

“Shepard?” Garrus whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Run!”

He seized her hand, and as the assembling merchants finally caught sight of her, she found herself hauled off in his wake, the merchants’ cries of indignation fading into the ambient noise of the crowds around them.

Together, they ran, vaulting rails and ducking tree branches as their armour registered their flight as combat and buoyed them with adrenaline. And she found herself laughing with outright abandon as they raced past various aliens who shook their heads and murmured things about ‘crazy spectres’ and let them pass on their way. _This_ , at least, was something that she knew. Something that felt comforting in its familiarity. Something that felt _right_. And long after they had reached the Normandy and stopped running, and peeled themselves out of their armour to engage in combat of a very different kind, her heart continued to race.

She was frightened. If she was being truly honest with herself, with _him_ , she could admit that much. But as they lay together, mapping out unfamiliar peaks and valleys with hesitant, wondering touch, she realized that he’d helped her find something else as well.

“What?” Garrus froze, anxious, propping himself up on an elbow. “You made a sound. I haven’t heard that one before. Should I stop?”

“You do and I’ll kick you out the airlock,” Shepard said. But at his stricken expression, she raised a hand to rest against his scarred face. “It’s okay. You just helped me find something important.”

“What?” he asked.

“Hope,” she said.

He blinked at her in shock before that familiar smugness stole back across his face. “Welllll,” he drawled, changing his position. “Let’s see what else I can find.”

Shepard dissolved into laughter as he redoubled his attentions, batting futilely at his crest as he left her limp with hysterics, and for the time being, at least, she could let herself believe that everything would be all right.

Sometimes, finding glimmers of hope in the dark was the only way she could go forward. Sometimes, finding them seemed like an impossible task. But having people in her life like Garrus… they made it a hell of a lot easier.

And some choices had consequences that were a lot easier to bear.


End file.
